The Crown of the Conqueror (58 page)

  The noise of the Salphors recommencing their attack rumbled over the other sounds. Anasind again moved to raise his arm, but Ullsaard grabbed his wrist.

  "Not yet," he said quietly. "We need to make sure the Salphors are fully committed."

  "A legion doesn't change direction in a heartbeat," replied Anasind. "Too late, and they'll be caught anyway. We need to…" His objection trailed away as Ullsaard fixed him with a stare.

  "In a moment," said the king. "This has one chance to work, let's not waste it."

  Anasind fidgeted, arm still gripped by Ullsaard. In his head, the king was picturing the scene, obscured by the line of the legion. The Salphors had been no more than a hundred and fifty paces away. Allowing for the speed of their attack and the pace of the retreat, subtracting a little for the order to be enacted…

  "Now," he said, letting go of Anasind.

  "Sound the attack!" the general bellowed, raising and dropping his arm quickly.

  The trumpets blared out. The Askhan companies came to a hesitant stop. As the signal rang again, they surged forward, meeting the Salphors head-on with a wall of bronze, a throaty roar drifting down to the river.

  The line broke as some companies surged into the enemy while others met stiffer resistance. The soldiers closest to the river, where the freshest companies were found, swung inwards, sweeping away the Salphors in front of them. On the far right, the line was at a virtual standstill, while the centre advanced in determined fashion, the ring of weapons mingling with more screams and cries.

  It seemed to take an age to Ullsaard, though in reality perhaps less than a quarter of an hour passed as the Askhan attack gained momentum. Having thought they were on the brink of victory, the courage of the Salphors crumbled quickly under the renewed assault, and they streamed away from the river in their dozens, leaving those fighting to their fate.

  With open country behind and determined foes in front, the Salphor retreat spread into a rout. Here and there knots of Salphors fought on, their chieftains too brave, too stupid, or too trapped to run away. Some of the Askhans were pressing after the fleeing foe, and there was a danger of an ill-disciplined chase.

  "Sound the recall," Anasind shouted to the musicians, just as the order was reaching Ullsaard's lips.

  On the third sounding of the order, the pursuit was halted. Company by company, the Thirteenth came back in line and marched back to the river. A few companies detached as a rear guard, covering the withdrawal against a possible – though unlikely – resurgence from the fleeing Salphors.

  Ullsaard looked at the legion, noticing that many of the companies had suffered heavy casualties. Those that had been fighting from the onset were at half strength or worse. It was with weary eyes and tired limbs that the legionnaires reformed on the general and king.

 

Ullsaard called for Blackfang and mounted. Spear in hand, he rode along the line.

  "Congratulations on winning the warm-up!" he shouted to his men. He pointed over the river with his spear. "The real battle's over there. You're tired. Many of you are hurt. It would be easy to stop now. I can't let you do that. You're the Thirteenth. You're my Thirteenth, and that means you don't stand around while others do the fighting."

  Ullsaard turned Blackfang around and rode back in the other direction.

  "The Fifth and the Seventh are over there, trying to make a good show of things," he continued. "Looks like they're outnumbered by two-to-one at least. They're Askhans, so they're going to win anyway. But people will wonder what the Thirteenth were doing while the Fifth and Seventh earned such glory. Do the Thirteenth want to be known as the legion that were spectators at Askh's great victory?"

  "No!" The shouted reply was a bit ragged. Taking a breath, Ullsaard pitched his voice even louder.

  "Are the Thirteenth going to be remembered as the legion that won two battles in a single day?"

  "Yes!" came the cry, stronger than before.

  "Which legion is going to kill these annoying Salphorian bitchfuckers for me and march me to Carantathi?

  "Thirteen!" The cheer was accompanied by the crashing of spears on shields and the stamping of feet.

  With a shout, Ullsaard urged Blackfang into a run and headed like an arrow for the river. Excited by the blood and mayhem, she plunged into the water without hesitation as the Thirteenth quickly filed after at a trot, forming column company by company.

  Ullsaard did not look back as Blackfang splashed over the ford. His eyes were fixed on the battle ahead. It would be easy to join the line where it was closest to the river, but the companies fighting there seemed to be doing well against relatively light opposition. The real danger lay at the far flank, where the Salphors were threatening to overlap or break through at any time. All of the reserves from the Fifth and Seventh had been committed, and still the Salphors were pushing them back.

  Angling Blackfang for the further extent of the Askhan line, Ullsaard slowed her to a fast walk. Behind him, the Thirteenth followed at a swift march, hidden from the enemy by the fighting. Looking over his shoulder, Ullsaard checked the far side of the river and was reassured to see that the Salphors had all but disappeared. That problem had been solved for good.

  When he was a few hundred yards from the fighting, he urged Blackfang on again. He waved his spear forwards and grinned as behind him the trumpets of the Thirteenth signalled the attack. It had been a long while since he had fought from Black fang's back, but he felt he owed it to the ailur after neglecting her for so long.

  A gap opened up between two companies ahead and, reins in his shield hand, Ullsaard directed her into the opening, spear at the ready.

  "Get ready, my beauty," he said to Blackfang, bracing himself as they hurtled towards a group of Salphors.

  Just a dozen paces from the enemy, Ullsaard used the rim of his shield to knock loose the catch on the ailur's blinker-chamfron. The spring-loaded plates over her eyes snapped open, and Blackfang looked upon her prey for the first time in years.

  The Salphors looked around in shock as a piercing snarl split the air. They turned to see a golden-speared warrior charging at them, upon the back of a spitting mass of claws and fangs with red flames for eyes.

  Before the tribesmen realised their peril, Ullsaard and Blackfang were upon them, spear flashing, teeth and claws rending and tearing. Ullsaard clung to reins and saddle horn with an iron grip as the ailur pounced and ripped. With his spear held overhand, the king lanced its point into any foe he could reach, plunging his weapon into chests and backs, splitting faces and piercing limbs. He snarled and roared with his mount, spittle flying from his mouth as blood sprayed from Blackfang's jaws.

  Just as they were recovering from the shock of Ullsaard's charge, the Salphors were confronted by the first company of the Thirteenth. Golden face of Askhos held aloft, the legionnaires plunged into the fray, chanting the name of their king.

  This fresh assault smashed into the Salphor line, company after company poured into the fray, driving deep into the tribesmen whilst behind them the men of the Seventh surged forwards with renewed strength.

  Ullsaard's heart hammered in his chest and the Blood rushed through his body, lending its strength to every blow he landed. He kicked aside the shield of a Salphorian warrior and drove his spear into the man's gut. Blackfang leapt, crushing the helm of another with a swipe of a paw.

  Something approached at speed from Ullsaard's right. Blackfang reacted quicker than the king, turning with a strangely disturbing shriek to leap directly at the lupus chariot. Ullsaard gripped tightly to the reins as feline and lupine collided, the ailur spitting, slashing with her claws, the lupus lunging at her throat with jaws wide. The king's eyes met with those of a charioteer, both of them slightly startled by the encounter.

  The Salphor recovered and lifted up his arm, a javelin in hand. Ullsaard swayed to his right as the missile left the man's grip, the sharp tip passing just a hand's breadth over the king's shoulder. A feral roar from Blackfang warned Ullsaard to centre himself. He swung back into position just as the ailur leapt across the lupus's back, one paw raking its shoulder, her jaw latching on to the back of the other beast's neck.

  Traces parted and the yoke snapped under the lunging attack, pitching the chariot into the muddied earth. Ullsaard jabbed out with his spear, catching the javelin-thrower in the shoulder, pitching him from the side of the light chariot. The driver had been half-pulled over the front and floundered to throw down the reins and regain his balance. Ullsaard's spear tip caught him full in the side of the face, punching through jaw and cheek.

  With a plaintive howl, the lupus died, Blackfang's dagger-like teeth clamped into its spine. The enemy close at hand were running away, many dropping shields and weapons as too cumbersome. Through his battle-fever, Ullsaard remembered to close Blackfang's war-mask; almost immediately she calmed, contenting herself with mauling and chewing on the dead lupus.

  Through a haze of excitement, Ullsaard tried to see what was happening. The Salphors had been thrown back by the arrival of the Thirteenth, but were by no means broken by it. Already, the fleeing warriors were mustering around their chieftains and returning to the battle.

  "For victory!" bellowed the king, waving his legions forward with his shield. "For Askhor!"

 

The road was wide, but treacherous, in places the rock split by wide cracks and crumbling where the mountainside dropped down to a sheer cliff on the right. The base of the cliff was hidden in the white murk of a thick mist. The upper towers of the Salphorian capital could be seen ahead over the shoulder of the mountain, grey tiled roofs shining with rain. The downpour sent rivulets across the roadway and rattled on the armour of the legionnaires.

  Rounding a sharp outcrop, Ullsaard found himself almost bumping into the back of a group of legionnaires. The road was packed with soldiers, who pressed against the rock away from the edge, fearful of the drop.

  "What's the delay?" he demanded. "The Salphors?"

  "Can't move forward," answered someone from the tightly packed men. "Everyone ahead has stopped."

  Ullsaard turned around and shouted to the captain of the following company.

  "Call the halt! Pass on the order! Call the halt!" He returned his attention to the throng of men in front. "Make way for your king."

  The legionnaires did the best they could, opening a gap just about wide enough for Ullsaard to squeeze through sideways. The situation got no better the further he went, several hundred men all cramped together. He spied the crest of a captain and pushed his way to the officer.

  "What is holding everybody up?" said the king. "Is it the Salphors?"

  "Don't think so, king," said the third captain. "I heard someone shout that the road ended."

  "Road ended?" Ullsaard frowned and shoved his way onwards, pushing men aside to find out what was going on.

  After some time, he finally reached the front of the halted column. Men stepped aside at his approach and he immediately saw the problem.

  A few paces ahead, the road did indeed end. With an edge as clean as a cut, the mountainside dropped away sharply, at least ten times the height of a man, down to a swift river and jagged rocks. Seventy or eighty paces ahead, the road resumed. A mass of ropes and timbers hung to one side; a bridge of some kind the king assumed. On the opposite side of the gorge stood a small knot of men.

  "You must be Ullsaard," one of them called out, hands cupped to his mouth. He wore heavy plates of bronze armour and a shining warhelm decorated with a gem at its brow. His beard was thick and braided and his hair hung past his shoulders.

  "You must be Aegenuis!" Ullsaard shouted back.

  The man raised a hand in acknowledgement.

  "You should know that I did not send those tribes to attack you," said the Salphorian king. "That was my son. I thought I had him under control, but some of my chieftains helped him escape. I have not broken my word."

  Ullsaard considered this but was not sure whether he believed the man or not.

  "Your Askhan is very good," he said.

  "I thought it wise to practise more, considering the future."

  Ullsaard could not help but smile. The Salphorian king seemed to be the sort of man he could deal with.

  "Now you have to keep your word," yelled Aegenuis. "If I give you the city and my crown, you must swear there will be no looting, no rape, no burning."

  "And if I don't?" Ullsaard replied.

  "Enjoy finding another way in," said Aegenuis. Laughter echoed from the walls of the canyon.

  "This?" said Ullsaard, waving a hand at the ravine. "I'll be across that in ten days at the most."

  "I think not! We have engines and archers above you. It would be bloody work."

  "All right, twenty days. My engineers will dam the river and build a new bridge. I have men from Ersua and Anrair; men that grew up in the mountains. They'll take care of your engines and archers easily enough."

  "And then? This is but the first of many obstacles. Carantathi has strong defences."

  "So did Magilnada and I took that city in four days!"

  This silenced Aegenuis for a while and he conferred with the chieftains around him. Eventually he stepped out from the group.

  "It seems like a waste of time and blood to not have to give your word," declared the Salphorian leader. "Why not promise me what I want, and I'll walk you through the gate myself. You'll have me as hostage, and I you."